


Don't Let Me Stand Still

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Food, Food Issues, Food Kink, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27075880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: "He knew he was headed for a crash, but he didn’t have a choice. Murray needed him, needed Bentley. And he’d never abandon his friends. He’d be fine if he just kept moving, didn’t give his body time to fully realize the ache."
Relationships: Bentley/Sly Cooper/Murray
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Don't Let Me Stand Still

“You’re sure you’re all right to go back into the field this soon?” Bentley asked, watching Sly pull his gloves on and button each one neatly at his wrists. The nature of being a thief was working quickly, sometimes without much time to stop and rest, but in this case, Bentley was worried about the extent of Sly’s injuries...and to what extent he was hiding them.

Sly shrugged, making sure the lacing in his boots was done up and tucked away carefully. Everything needed to be just so for these jobs. He couldn’t afford even a minor injury when they were so close to the Contessa’s territory. As Bentley had been briefing him on Murray’s whereabouts, sirens had begun blaring as the guards were alerted of Sly’s escape. 

“Admittedly, I could’ve been more subtle…” Bentley had admitted to him once he noticed Sly looking spooked. “Just the thought of you being in that hole...I couldn’t bear it.” 

Sly couldn’t blame him.

“We need to get Murray out,” he said cooly. “I can help you do that.”

“Yeah, but he’ll keep,” Bentley turned away from his computer for a moment to meet his friend’s eyes. “At least while you got your head down for a few hours.”

Sly shook his head. “I’d rather stay active, take advantage of the adrenaline. Besides, if I sleep right now, I’ll just have nightmares.” He didn’t really feel like concealing much from Bentley at the moment; the turtle also had the wide-eyed, glassy look that indicated he’d been without sleep for at least a few days, and even though his glasses hid the worst of it, he looked about as haunted as Sly felt.

Bentley nodded gravely in understanding. “All right, just be careful. Don’t take too many risks if you don’t have to, and keep the acrobatics to a minimum.”

Sly smiled cheekily. “Really, Bentley. When have I ever been reckless?”

“Always,” Bentley teased, but he smiled, too. “Go on, then. I’ll be here with the maps if you need support.”

Sly was grateful that Bentley could stand to stare at a computer screen. That sort of light always seemed to hurt his eyes after a while. Probably because he was a nocturnal creature by design.

He slipped out the safe house’s exit and quickly pulled himself up to the rooftops where he felt safe, using his can to help him access power lines he could walk access on his way to the cell block. Adrenaline was what was responsible for keeping him on his feet, a mixture of worry and fear and excitement. He loved being free, and it felt good to stretch his legs, which had grown sore and cramped from his time in the Hole.

He hadn’t been lying to Bentley about his reasons for wanting to stay active, but the thing was, because of his and Murray’s capture, not only had he not gotten proper medical attention, he’d also not gotten any proper rest or food for at least a week. Sly’s abilities were unique to his clan, true, but in order to have that kind of energy, a Cooper had to eat well. Many pages in the Thievius Racconus listed practical sources of food for a variety of climates; rich proteins, starches, and the occasional odd food, because raccoons aren’t picky, and a bit of “trash,” as most animals would call it, was necessary for their diet. 

Sly was hungry. More than that, he was starving, his body trying to heal and recover while also maintaining his adrenaline. He knew he was headed for a crash, but he didn’t have a choice. Murray needed him, needed Bentley. And he’d never abandon his friends. He’d be fine if he just kept moving, didn’t give his body time to fully realize the ache. That was what had made the Hole terrible, really. With nothing to do but sit in the dark and stare at the walls, Sly had far too much time to think and dream.

His right hand slipped off his cane as he was mid-jump, and it took everything in him not to panic, to swish his tail and turn a sumersalt in the air so he landed safely on a stray bit of webbing. Slicing it neatly with the sharp edge of the cane, he slid underneath a discarded pram just in the nick of time, his eyes watching the clawed feet of one of the elite guards passing by on patrol. His stomach was pressed against the cool earth, his usual clothes tattered and sweaty, and his body began to cramp up again, the muscles in his shoulders twisting into painful knots.

Sly inhaled a breath and regretted it; something smelled delicious. He inched towards the other side of the pram, the tip of his nose just outside the shadows as he closed his eyes and deliberately sniffed.It smelled like day-old fish, something most creatures would turn their nose up at, but Sly was a hungry raccoon, and a hungry raccoon isn’t picky in the slightest. Prague seemed to be all about the fish; he’d noticed boats while headed to the safe house after he’d been rescued. Even though the Contessa seemed to have bought most of this land for herself, there were smaller settlements around the castle. 

Sly’s stomach growled, and the young raccoon flattened his ears against his skull. He’d been, frankly, confused when the Contessa had started asking about (demanding, really) where they’d hidden their fortune. Sure, he was a Cooper, and he knew the clan probably had generational wealth stashed away. It was like that in the movies, anyway, but he’d been badly knocked about by Neyla and Rajan, so he couldn’t remember if he’d read about one in the Thievius Raccoonus, never mind with bright lights shining in his eyes and the Contessa shouting at him in Slavic. The “hoard” he and the gang had was small; they lived simply and were happy. A lot of whatever money they had was usually spent on medicine, lodgings, bribes, and food.

Ah, food. What Sly wouldn’t give to have Murray back on the team, cooking up a storm in the kitchen. 

The guard fluttered away, and Sly shook himself fiercely. Murray was much more valuable to the team than as some glorified domestic help. His brawn had gotten them out of some serious scrapes in the past, after all, and now, Murray needed help getting out of a situation he couldn’t just punch his way through. 

Sly crawled out from under the pram, stretching gingerly before darting across the street before another patrol came round. He was hidden safely behind the dumpster, ready to move again, when one of the wolves, dragging a formidable mace behind him, approached. Sly held his breath, staying absolutely still, his tail not even daring to twitch. The wolf looked around, then opened the dumpster to toss something inside before whistling as he walked away.

Curious (it had looked maybe like a drop-off; Bentley hadn’t told him about a man on the inside, but he couldn’t blame the turtle for forgetting under the circumstances), Sly snuck around and carefully opened the dumpster.

His mouth watered, tempted by the buffet of smells before him. Oh, raccoons can’t live on trash alone...but Sly was tempted to just climb in and have a snack. Day-old fish was there, as promised, though most of it was more bone than fish, and what the wolf had just thrown away looked to be some sort of meat on the bone...pork, maybe, going by the color.

Dizzy with hunger and trembling with weakness, Sly nearly gave in…! But he’d be useless, then. He knew better than to eat a full meal right before a job; it had never made him violently ill, but the physical effects were enough to discourage it. He usually only had a bowl of fruit or some nuts right before a job. It also helped to be light and not so bloated.

Sly let the dumpster fall closed and scaled one of the lamp posts, ignoring the way his head swam. Let his belly ache; they needed Murray back on the team.

He needed them all back together. He was nothing without his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess you could call this a prequel to "One Long, Long Night" if you wanted. My little "thing I need to know" about my characters is if/when they eat, and how much. I was looking up gymnast statistics and athlete meals and...yeah. All I can say is, Sly's abilities require some SERIOUS fuel, and we know he doesn't often get that. Poor Sly.
> 
> TLDR: Sorry, I'm food-kink trash. *shrugs*


End file.
